


Firelight

by Anxiety_Elemental



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragons, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxiety_Elemental/pseuds/Anxiety_Elemental
Summary: Onyxia is defeated and Varian Wrynn returns home triumphant, but unknown to any mortal, the dragon had one last plot. One of her own children has taken the place of someone close to the king, one last strike against a hated enemy. A long shadow is cast on Stormwind, yet even in dark places, and in a hollow heart, the Light endures.





	1. Extinguish

**Author's Note:**

> You ever have an idea for a story, it’s a big epic thing, you daydream about it all the time, but never think you’ll be able to write it? Well, this is mine. It’s been years since I’ve written anything, not even fic, so we’ll see how this goes!
> 
> Also, please heed the major character death warning, especially if the death of a child would upset you. The death in question is the inciting event for the rest of the story and will be referenced often, if that is too much then this fic is not for you.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“You don’t have to be scared, you’re safe now.”

The prince kept his head down, acknowledging neither Varian or his words _empty, hollow, and meaningless_. They walked down the stone hallway of Stormwind Keep in near silence, the only sound was Varian’s boots echoing off the walls, metallic and heavy. Guards stood at their posts as the two walked by, saluting at the king and prince as they walked past, silent, faceless sentinels. The prince tried not to look at them, or their weapons.

“I... don’t know what else to say, Anduin,” Varian said, face lined with worry, as he looked down at the prince again. “Onyxia is gone now, she’ll never hurt anyone ever again. She won’t kidnap you again, and I’m here now to keep you safe.”

The prince did not, would not, look up at Varian. They reached their destination, the door to the prince’s private room. Varian knelt down, lifted a hand as if to put it on the prince’s shoulders, then reconsidered. The boy would still not look him in the eye. “Please talk to me, this isn’t like you.”

The prince startled, eyes wide. He opened his mouth but only managed a thin, uncertain sound. He looked away again, and stayed silent. Varian frowned, rubbed his eyes with one hand and stood up, he tried and failed to hide his disappointment. He opened the door, and the prince walked in. The prince stopped in the middle of the room, and looked around as if seeing it for the first time. “Good night, Anduin.” Varian murmured, and closed the door behind him, leaving the prince alone.

The prince looked around the room, disconnected from his surroundings, as if in a dream. He was supposed to pretend that this was all his now. Not just the room and the things in it, but the life, the title, the skin he now wore. He had to pretend to be Stormwind's human prince. It had not been long since Onyxia had snatched the real human prince from this very keep. Only hours before he was in his with his Mother in their lair, waiting for the human king and his companions to arrive.

Only hours before, he had killed Anduin Wrynn.

 

* * *

 

His earliest memories were of darkness.

The whole world was no bigger than his eggshell, any light or sound beyond was meaningless, with only his own thoughts for company. _What will you become little dragon? What misery and destruction will you rain upon this world?_

His hatching had been a struggle. The hatching had no understanding of the mechanics behind the process, only an instinct that said he had to exit the shell. He pecked at the shell with his egg tooth as best he could, but he was so cramped he had little space to maneauver. A new emotion seized him, his heart raced and his chest tightened, he couldn’t stay in this shell, what if he couldn’t get out? _Are you fit to live?_ The egg rocked as the unhatched whelp renewed his efforts until finally, a crack. He stuck his snout out into the world, and took his first breath of warm air. 

It took some more time to escape the rest of his shell, but his fear disappared, and he emerged at last, a dark-scaled dragon whelping with violet wings and yellow eyes blinked and took in evertying. His cluchmates had hatched before him, and were already fluttering around, chirping and taking in the new sights of the cave, lit by orange magma.

The drake in charge of watching over this nest looked the whelps over, apparently pleased. The drake said they could choose their own names, and told them the names of other great black dragons as examples. The new hatching thought, and chose a name: Parthurion.

 

* * *

 

The small whelp hid in the tall grass, dark scales hiding him perfectly as he watched these new creatures with intense interest. He had never seen any mortals in person before, he heard only descriptions of them from his older siblings. The ones he now observed were a group of three tauren, having wandered far east of their usual hunting grounds. They were sitting around a crackling campfire, talking and laughing about inane subjects. Or maybe it was important? They talked about the weather, their last hunt, their families back home. Perhaps it was important, he hadn’t yet learned what it was mortals valued _only useless things, meaningless things_.

“Parthurion!” hissed a voice behind him.

Parthurion turned his head, spotting another whelp behind him, one of his clutchmates.

“Get back here!” she hissed, “You’re not supposed to be their far from home! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Parthurion crawled quietly as he could through the grass, careful to avoid any debri that would make too much noise.“I was just looking!” he whispered, then flapped his small wings in irritation, “Go away and leave me alone!”

His clutchmate promptly clamped a paw around his neck, and started to drag him away. Parthurion squawked in protest, then quickly clamped his mouth shut and glanced over his shoulder behind him.

“Quiet!” his clutchmate hissed, and tugged harder, urging them both onward through the brush. They half flew, half ran though the grass until they were in sight of their home cave again. Parthurion's sister whacked him. "What were you thinking, dirt brain?"

"I was just looking!" Parthurion rubbed his sore neck. “And aren’t you curious? No wings or scales or claws, how do mortals survive for so long?” They were so weak _yet the vermin endure._

His sister scoffed, “They don’t, that’s what makes them mortal. Now let’s get back home, or Glaustia will yell at us!”

 

* * *

 

He was a drake when he first succeeded in taking mortal form. He took a piece of obsidian and polished it to a mirror shine so he could examine his handiwork before testing it. It took a few tries, it was easy enough to make his white, curled horns look something like the horns of tauren, his dark scales into black fur, though getting the facial features right took some more effort.

Full-grown dragons did not remain in the lair long, and it was the duty of the drakes to guard the whelps and the eggs in their Mother’s absence. They usually only had to worry about wild animals that grew hungry enough to risk preying on young dragon whelps. But the tauren hunting parties he had once observed were beginning to move deeper into the swamp, closer to the lair, and he took up the task of dealing with them.

Parthurion had not lost his curiosity about mortals. It was so strange to him that these creatures, doomed to die, not only continued to exist but thrive, build civilizations and nations. _Fragile things, corruptible, to be crushed and devoured._ He wanted to learn all he could, so he had started to try to shapeshift, a magic all dragons possessed but only few practiced. He was eager to gain their knowledge _better understand the prey_ and try to make sense of their culture. It was this reason he had chosen to take on the problem of the tauren hunting parties, a test of what he knew, and a chance to learn more in the service of his flight.

He had scouted the area around the lair already, and knew the area where the tauren hunters were likely to camp for the night. He flew close as he dared, took on his new tauen form, and walked towards the light of their campfires.

"Hey!" he called as he jogged towards the camp, struggling somewhat to run with hoofed feet, "I need help!"

The tauren raised their weapons, spears and bows pointed his way before he was close. He stopped just outside their camp, his arms raised to show he had no weapons of his own. “Who are you?” The first hunter asked. She was tall, with spotted brown fur, dark horns, and spear ready but no malice in her voice. “Where’d you come from?”

“I was separated from my hunting party and became lost weeks ago,” Parthurion said, trying to sound scared and desperate, careful with his facial expressions, the pitch of his voice. “I don’t know what happened to my friends! I couldn’t find my way back home!”

The first tauren lowered her weapon, then beckoned him over with one hand. “We will return to Thunder Bluff in a few days,” the leader said, “You’re welcome to come with us.”

Parthurion clasped his hands together in thanks, as he’d seen the tauren do before when he spied on their camps. “Thank you, I am grateful.” _Fools with weak hearts, easily deceived._

He was grateful to be off his feet, and the tauren hunters began to ask him questions. It was not an interrogation, but gentle, earnest conversation. The other tauren accepted him easily, asked his name and story, which Parthurion replied with a lie he had concocted earlier. They seemed to believe him, after that first encounter they seemed at ease around him. He stayed with them through the evening. The tauren were cheerful, laughed easily, They shared their food with him, and asked nothing in return. They were so joyful, friendly, and patient, perhaps they _liars all of them, they are wicked creatures with hate in their hearts. They would kill you and all you love if they knew the truth._ Yes, it had been foolish to think for even a moment that they were not enemies.

He waited until the fires died down, and the tauren were all asleep. Quiet, unsuspecting. He killed them all, one by one. They would not wander near their lair ever again.

 

* * *

 

Later, more mortals arrived in Dustwallow. First were the humans who had fled from the Eastern Kingdoms. They cut away trees and brush and brought in stone to build a new settlement on the coast. Parthurion could never get too close, he was too large now to sneak in the grass, and he did not know how they would react if he approached them as a tauren.

Not long after he learned that orcs had settled far north of the swamp. Small scouting parties, not dissimilar from the tauren, wandered down into Dustwallow. They did not seem to be searching for anything in particular, and never came far enough south to be a threat to the brood.

Parthurion kept an eye on them, and wondered what had changed an ocean away to bring these people here.

 

* * *

 

“Mother wants to see you.”

The drake who had spoken did not wait for Parthurion’s reaction, turning to fly away.

Parthurion was no longer a drake himself but now a full grown dragon. He was old enough now to leave the lair and set out to carve out a home for himself. Parthurion was even planning to, delaying because he had yet to decide where to go. He considered whether he wanted to move north west to observe the Night Elves, north east to the orcs, or elsewhere in the swamp to the humans. _Study the prey, learn their ways and conquer the world._ Also, he wasreluctant to leave his little siblings. The new arrivals in the swamp made him nervous, and he had grown so used to guarding them, been his purpose for so long, it was hard for him to just leave that duty.

He did not see his Mother often, none of them who lived in her lair did. For years she stayed far away in the Eastern Kingdoms, manipulating the humans and their politics. He knew little of the details of her mission, other than it was to protect Nefarian, and his work and brood in Blackrock. He wasn’t even sure if she was planning to destroy the humans eventually, or if she was content to leave them running in circles. 

Onyxia returned to her lair rarely, she had fewer nests after taking up her role in human society, and the older drakes were there to teach the young whelps what they needed to survive on their own. Mother calling for him specifically during on of her rare visits was a surprise. He had been doing his duty at the rest of the brood, protecting them from predators and mortals. Most of his siblings had no interest in mortals, so Parthurion was one of the few who learned to shapeshift. Perhaps that had something to do with it? Or was she angry he hadn’t left the lair yet? Or something else?

Onyxia was waiting for him in the deepest part of the lair in the largest cave. She was the largest and strongest of all the brood, of all the flight save Deathwing himself. Something the drakes who’d raised him impressed upon all the whelps was the honor of being the direct grandchildren of an the greatest dragon Aspect. Onyxia herself was the largest, most powerful of their immediate family. 

“Your siblings tell me you’ve been meddling with mortals,” Onyxia began, with no other greeting or introduction. “What have you been doing?”

There was no accusation in her voice, instead she seemed curious. Her posture was relaxed and wings loose at her sides. Parthurion’s fears eased, if his Mother were angry she would not hide it. “I’ve been observing them,” he said. “I’ve learned a great deal. I mostly studied the tauren who come through, though I’ve had some time to observe the new human settlement.”

“And you’ve achieved mortal form?” 

“Yes Mother.”

“Show me.”

Parthurion nodded, and changed. His form shrank, scale to fur and claw to hand, until he had taken his tauren form. Onyxia stretched her neck to get a better look at him, yellow eyes examining him from every angle. Parthurion waited patiently for her judgment.

Eventually, she leaned back and nodded with a rumble of approval. “You will come with me to Stormwind,” she said. 

Parthurion bowed his head, his Mother’s word was law.

 

* * *

 

Dragons could take only one mortal form at a time, and they could take weeks to craft. The little time he had to watch the human settlement was useful in creating his disguise before leaving Dustwallow with his Mother. He made his human form as unremarkable as possible, brown hair and eyes, no interesting features, and he kept his eyes down and spoke as little as possible. When Katrana Prestor returned to Stormwind, she introduced him as her favorite servant from home, who she simply could not live without.

The rest of the keep staff were polite, though distant, to Parthurion. Perhaps they felt his presence an insult, that their own work was beneath Katrana. Parthurion did not care what they thought  _do not concern yourself with the thoughts of insects._

His Mother’s orders were simple. “For now, learn the layout of the castle, the names and faces of its residents, their schedules, habits, and customs. I will only need you to if I am discovered. It is of the utmost importance that you draw no attention to yourself. And,” she made sure to stare her son in the eye, “Perfect your next mortal form, if we are discovered your disguise must be flawless do you understand?”

“Yes Mother,” he said. Of course she would never be discovered, they were too well hidden, too well embedded in the human’s society. And even if the humans did figure out her true identity, she was a child of Deathwing, _the greatest aspect, the destroyer of all things. Nothing could stand against Onyxia and live_. He quietly thought that this whole contingency plan was _pointless they were invincible, and mortals too foolish to detect them._ But he would not say such things to her.

As much most of his days were spent running errands for Katrana. He was the servant of a noblewoman, and it gave him plenty of reasons to explore different parts of the castle.

One day Parthurion walked through the halls, a stack of papers to be delivered to Katrana for her consideration. He was distracted, double checking the files as he walked down the hall, while also trying to remember the difference between the exact duties of the palace guards versus the city guards, when he collided with something. 

Parthurion dropped the papers in surprise, looked around quickly, then down.

Prince Anduin was looking up at him, he had caught some of the papers Parthurion had dropped. He reached out his arms to hand back the files, “Are you okay?” he asked.

Parthurion said nothing.

“Please be careful,” Anduin said, open concern in his eyes. “If you don’t look where you’re going you might get hurt.”

Parthurion still said nothing, and looked down at Anduin. The boy shuffled uncomfortably under Parthurion’s stare. He dropped the papers, then quickly ran off past Parthurion, down the hall and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

It took no time at all for all their careful plans to fall apart. The humans did discover Katrana’s true identity, and Onyxia, Parthurion, and the surviving dragonspawn all fled back to her lair in Dustwallow Marsh.

It was time for his Mother’s contingency plan.

Onyxia had snatched the human prince before they fled. Now Onyxia in human form had Anduin restrained, his hands tied behind his back, both her hands on his slight shoulders. Pointed nails dug through his clothes into his skin as the boy tried to wriggle out of her grip. Anduin only stopped struggling when Parthurion approached in his true form, Anduin’s eyes wide and staring at the dragon in horror.

“Show me,” Onyxia commanded.

Parthurion bowed his head, and took on this new mortal form which he had worked on for years. His scales grew soft and light, his form shrank, claws became hands, and horns disappeared and pale blond hair grew from his scalp. When Parthurion opened his new blue eyes, he looked back at Anduin, who had gone white at the sight of his double.

“What’s going on?” Anduin shouted, and started to struggle in Onyxia’s grip again. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

Onyxia nodded. “Good,” she said, “Kill him.”

The boy had no time to react. Parthurion’s hands snapped forward, wrapped around Anduin’s neck and squeezed. There was a wet crack, a choked gurgle, and Anduin’s body went limp. _The fate of all mortals_.

“Good,” Onyxia said again. She lifted the small body by the back of his shirt, and without effort or care, tossed the remains into the nearby lava pool. Parthurion did not watch as it burned.

Onyxia knelt in front of her son, taking his head in her hand. “If I do not survive, you become our family’s only chance. It will become your duty to misdirect the humans and protect our family in my stead.” She drew a small dagger and handed it to him. The dark obisidan blade gleamed, it was small enough he could hide it in his boot, but the thin edge sharp enough to slice flesh with the slightest effort. “Kill them if you must,” Onyxia continued, her face a perfect stern mask, “Be patient and strong, and do not fail us.”

Parthurion thought of the burning body not far from where he stood now, and the mortal’s wrath soon to arrive at their lair. His hand tightened around the knife’s handle.

“Yes Mother.”

 

* * *

 

But his Mother did die, slain by the human king and his companions. Parthurion had played his part as the frightened captive, held in his Mother’s claws and screamed for the human king to run away and save himself. Varian Wrynn did no such thing.

When it was over Parthurion could not take his eyes from his Mother's bloodied corpse, eyes blank and unblinking. All around were the corpses of his siblings, broken bodies of whelps and smashed eggs he had once protected. _Failed you failed your enemies triumph and you may yet join the slaughtered._ Parthurion turned and looked back at the mortals who had murdered all of them. _Helpless worthless whelp._

“Anduin!” Varian cried, and ran up to Parthurion, arms outstretched. Parthurion screamed and backed away, and froze when he realized what he had done. Varian and all the others stared at him, confused and worried, they didn’t understand why Varian’s son would fear his father. Parthurion had to pretend to be the prince now, to be glad that these strangers were family and friends, and to be joyful at the deaths of all these dragons, who he should not think of as his family anymore. 

“It’s me, it’s your Father,” Varian said, kneeling in front of Parthurion. His voice was soft, as if speaking to a skittish animal. Fear and sadness displayd openly on his face, where before there had only been white rage for the other dragons. _Rage for you, death and pain for you_. “You’re safe now, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

Parthurion let Varian hug him, his own body stiff. The king patted the false prince’s hair and murmured words of comfort not truly meant for him.

 

* * *

 

Now he was back at the keep, on a mission he had spent years preparing for but never thought would happen. Onyxia was gone but she, and the rest of their flight and family, depended on him to steer the humans in her place. He felt small, exposed, like prey just before sharp teeth closed around his neck. All around him were his enemies, and he had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to.

It took him a moment to find where the prince’s sleeping clothes were kept, but he changed and crawled into the bed, similar to the routine he had when he played the faithful servant of Katrana Prestor. It felt almost like normalcy, as if he could slip into another’s life as easy as he could slip on a glove. Almost.

He stared at the stone wall, oddly empty, as if his fear had scrubbed away his capacity for all other emotion.  _Take back what’s yours, make them hurt and bleed and beg._

He would avenge his family, he would destroy Stormwind.


	2. Distant Star

Shortly after Onyxia was defeated, Jaina returned to Stormwind. So much had been disrupted over one long day: Varian had been two people, now fused back together, Katrana had been a black dragon in disguise, Anduin had been kidnapped... it was all so much. She worried for the Wrynns, she didn’t fully understand what had happened to Varian in the time he had been split in two, and Anduin had been so frightened, so disturbed by what happened in Onyxia’s lair. 

Jaina was greeted politely by the keep guard, and asked to wait in the king’s sitting room while they informed him of her visit. Though not especially close, she did consider Varian a friend, and she knew Anduin looked up to her and treated her like an aunt. She knew all about keeping up appearances, and wanted to know what was happening underneath.

A servant came in and lit the fire in the study hearth, and informs Jaina that the king is on his way. She thanks him, and it was about five minutes later that Varian walked in, still in full armor, weariness in his face and poster.

“Long day?” Jaina asked with a small smile, quietly hoping she didn’t arrive at a bad time.

“It was,” Varian said. He walked over to a cabint and bgan removing a brandy bottle and two glasses, “Seems everyone here is worse than I remember, stuffy, arrogant, and all of them demanding my full attention at all times. Bunch of vipers.”

Varian walked back to the hearth and offered Jaina a glass, which she accepted. It had been that kind of day it seemed. Varian sat down in an armchair next to her with a heavy sigh, a hand going up to rub his forehead.

“How’ve things been?” Jaina asked.

“Not well,” Varian began, sounding tired, “Already told you how my days have been. And Anduin is doing poorly. He’s become quiet, withdrawn,” Varian looked away from Jaina, apparently in shame, “And I think he’s afraid of me.”

Jaina looked down at her own drink, and remembered vividly how Anduin had screamed when Varian had first tried to embrace him back in Onyxia’s lair. She turned the moment over in her mind, examining the memory. The boy had been staring around at the dead dragons around him, and not long ago he had been stolen from his home and had his life threatened. “He went through something that would frighten anyone, and he is only a child.”

Varain didn’t answer, instead he emptied his glass and started to pour himself another. It occurred to Jaina she didn’t know how much he had been drinking already. “I know he still loves you,” she said. Varian didn’t answer, instead staring at his knees. Jaina tried to think of what comfort she could offer her old friend. “Has Anduin ever seen so much violence before Onyxia’s death?”

Varian looked at the fire in the hearth, eyebrows furrowed in though. “No,” he said, slowly, “No, it hadn’t occurred to me this was his first real experience of battle.”

“That’s why,” Jaina said, “He’s a sensitive child, and there was no way for him to prepare for this. He’s in shock, but he’s strong, I think he will make it through this.”

Varian grunted and shifted in his chair, “I worry about this change in him,” he said, not looking at Jaina, “He’s a boy but he’s still the prince, he can’t afford to be weak. If Onyxia can frighten him so much what will he do when others try to hurt hum? What will he do if the Horde comes for him? He cannot just cower before his enemies!”

Varian’s voice had grown louder as he spoke, his grip around his drink tightened. Varian might worry about the change in Anduin, but the change in Varian worried her more.

This Varian was a stranger to her. From what she understood of Varian’s split selves, Lo’gosh had been a gladiatorial slave, yet seemed to thrive in the arena. Despite living in chains that part of him flourished, had loved the arena and the violence of it. Varian had a temper before, and had not shied from combat, but it was as if those qualities had been magnified, had consumed him. There was an upcoming peace summit at Theramore, and she wondered how this new Varian would act. She wasn't sure she knew the Varian who had returned to the throne.

The king noticed Jaina’s silence and scowled at her. “What?” he snapped.

“It’s nothing,” Jaina said, afraid her doubt had been written on her face.

Varian grunted, unconvinced. They continued to sit and drink in silence, though Jaina began to fear she was unwelcome. Eventually she put down her glass. “Thanks for the drink, but I need to go home,” she stood up, “Theramore is an will always be a friend to Stormwind.”

Varian did not say goodbye.

Only after leaving the room and closing the door behind her did she teleport herself back home. She had her duties in her own city, and those took priority over all else. In the wake of Onyxia’s ruin, it seemed that the Wrynns were in turmoil, and that could be dangerous for Stormwind. She didn't know what this would mean for the future of their kingdom.

She had her duties in her own city, and those took priority over all else. In the wake of Onyxia’s ruin, it seemed that the Wrynns were in turmoil, and that could be dangerous for Stormwind. She didn't know what this would mean for the future of their kingdom.

 

* * *

 

Parthurion had been avoiding Varian as much as he could. He could feel himself coming apart at the seams. He already knew that the mortals had noticed a change in ‘Anduin’s’ behavior, and though they attributed it to trauma, Parthurion had no idea if he could maintain the illusion, as frayed as he was. He couldn’t sleep, the deaths of his family and himself manifest in his dreams, and he had to force himself to eat the strange mortal food brought to him. It had seemed so easy when Onyxia had been teaching him how to slip into a mortal's life, but she hadn't tried to take the place of an established identity, and the reality of being alone among his enemies paralyzed him. It was worst when guards and servants gave him sympathetic looks, as if they genuinely wanted to help him  _dishonest creatures you should burn this place to the ground_.

The hidden knife stayed in its sheath in his boot. He couldn't bring himself to use it, surely if these mortals could uncover and slay his Mother they would do the same to him the moment they suspected the truth. So all he could manage was to try to keep his head down, and try to get through the days as if he really were the prince. It became just a little bit harder every day.

Despite his efforts he couldn't avoid Varian all the time, and one day the king had walked right up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch was like an anchor, he couldn't move anymore than if he'd been chained.

“Anduin, let’s go for a ride,” Varian said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

Curiosity and fear fought in Parthurion’s head. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” Varian said, then motioned for Parthurion to follow him. He didn’t especially want to go anywhere with Varian, but the king seemed relatively relaxed, and though he was still in full armor he didn’t seem to be expecting a fight soon. Curiosity won.

Parthurion followed Varian quietly, though his eyes darted around, fearing a trap. But surely they couldn’t have discovered him so soon? Maybe Varian did just want to show him something _do not let down your guard, mortals are wicked creatures._

They’d walked to the royal stables and said to mount up. A servant walked Parthurion to a white mare, already saddled and waiting for him.

Parthurion had never ridden a horse, he’d never had an opportunity before and now that he was up close to one he wasn’t sure why anyone would ever want to. The beast was much larger than he was, bigger than some of the humans. He wondered what madness gripped these mortals to try to tame and then ride these animals.

Servants helped him into the saddle, and handed him the reins. Varian, on his own horse, waved an arm for Parthurion to follow, with several guards on foot following them. They only had the horses walk, which Parthurion was silently grateful for, he might have fallen if they had to go any faster.

They rode through the city, surrounded by armed and mounted guards. People stopped to watch the group go by, in the streets, out of windows. Parthurion wondered how rare it was to see the royal family out on the streets like this, none of them said anything to the party as they rode by. He didn't know anything about life in Stormwind beyond the keep walls, what were their lives like _vermin, not worth your concern._ He stopped watching the people stare.

“We’re almost there,” Varian said, as they rode through the trade district. Guards went ahead and parted the crowds so they could pass through.

“I know you’ve been... struggling” Varian said to Parthurion, keeping his voice low so the crowds couldn’t overhear, “I wanted to show you something that might help.

Parthurion had been in this part of the city before on errands for Katrana, but wasn’t sure what Varian might be talking about. It was all merchants around here, was he going to buy something? He was even more confused when they rode out of the district and through the city’s front gates. Varian raised a hand for the group to stop just as they walked under a large archway before the bridge.

“We’re here.” Varian pointed up, “Look.”

He did, and froze with utter horror.

His Mother’s severed head was hanging from the arches before the city gates, strung up with chains. The blood at the base of her neck had coagulated, now black like tar. He could smell the rotting flesh even with dulled mortal senses, eyes and tongue dried and shriveled. He felt sick, he felt himself start to shake, he wanted to look away from the gruesome thing but couldn’t.

Varian leaned over in his saddle, closer to the false prince. “It’s okay,” he murmured, voice quiet so only Parthurion could hear, “See? Onyxia is dead.” 

The words echoed in his head, Onyxia is dead his Mother is dead they killed her butchered her hung head like a hunting trophy -

His horse whinnied as he kicked its sides and the animal bolted forward. Parthurion barely heard the sounds of the humans’ shouts behind him, he leaned forward and gripped the horse’s mane as tight as he could as wind whipped past his face. He couldn’t be here he couldn’t stay here didn’t matter where he went they would find him and they would kill him, the horses hooves thundered below as the animal ran and ran and ran.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the blurred shapes of trees whip past he had no idea where he was or how far he had gone it wasn’t enough he couldn’t outrun he kicked the horse again to try to make it go faster. The horse had enough of him, it tossed its head then reared back with a loud whinny. Parthurion leaned forward and gripped more of the animal’s mane, he closed his eyes. The horse reared back again, much more violently, Parthurion lost his grip on the mane as he slipped from the saddle and fell, landing on the hard earth. White pain shot up his arm and chest, and he was sure he felt a rib crack. 

He lay stunned in the dirt and  barely registered the clatter of hooves as the horse bolted away into the trees. He tried to scrabble to his feet, biting pain in his side and shoulder _weak you are weak easy prey_. Breaths shallow and pained, he crawled on all fours, hands scraping against stone and dirty, then forced himself to stand and run away from the road, away from humans, away from everything.

He had no idea where he was, all he had been able to think was that he needed to get away from the city, away from his Mother’s remains and all those people who would kill him if they knew his secret. The pain in his side stabbed, knees buckled and he fell to the ground again, sending new pain and shock up his body, and this time he wasn’t sure he could get up.

Parthurion crawled to the closest shelter he could find, the base of a tree, and curled up by the roots into a ball of pain and fear, unable to process anything else. This was wrong this was all wrong he shouldn’t be here _kill them all make them bleed and suffer drink their blood and eat their hearts_ - 

“Anduin?”

Parthurion jolted, trying to get to his feet and stumbled, pain bit his body and he fell back. Hands reached out to steady him and he blindly flailed against,. “No!” He yelled, and dug his heels into the ground, pulling away. He was gently lowered again then released, so his thrashing wouldn’t cause him to fall again. When Parthurion had gathered his wits enough, he looked up at who had discovered him.

It was Bolvar Fordragon, the old regent. Parthurion didn't recall him coming with them to see Onyx's head. Varian must have called on him specifically to go look for the prince.

Parthurion stayed crouched near the ground, body tense. “It’s okay,” Bolvar said, a phrase Parthurion was becoming sick of hearing, “We don’t have to go anywhere or do anything if you don’t want to. I’m here to make sure you’re safe.” The paladin pointed at a patch of ground near Parthurion. “May I sit with you?”

Parthurion did nothing. He could try to order Bolvar to go away, but he had a suspicion that it wouldn’t work, no doubt Varian’s will would overrule anything Parthurion said.  He nodded but did not look at Bolvar. _Mortals are shallow creatures, there is nothing he could offer you._ There was a soft clatter of plate metal as Bolvar sat at the base of the tree with him. Parthurion knew he would have to return to the castle, go back to his fake life with his fake name and his fake family.

“Do you want to talk?” Bolvar asked. He continued to talk in that soft tone, as if he cared what Parthurion thought, really wanted to soothe his fear. Something about it made Parthurion’s heart ache, as if something was missing _all lies he would slay you._

“No,” he said, curtly.

Bolvar nodded, unbothered by Parthurion’s harsh tone. “Then we can just sit here until you’re ready to go.”

Bolvar leaned back against the tree trunk, and looked up at the sky. He didn’t call out to announce anyone nearby that he had found the prince. Though he didn’t care for the company, Parthurion was grateful for the moment of quiet _._ Bolvar looked back at the false prince, then frowned.

“Were you thrown from your horse?” Bolvar asked, spotting the scrapes along Parthurion’s shoulder and arm. Parthurion scowled, annoyed by the broken silence. “I can heal you,” Bolvar continued, “I’m sure you’ll feel better once those are fixed.”

The injuries still hurt, and he wasn’t sure of the extent of the damage. He would need them treated anyway, might as well get it done now. “Fine,” he said, and raised his injured arm towards the paladin.

Gauntleted hands took Parthurion’s arm gently, as if he were made of folded paper. A golden glow surrounded Bolvar's hands, and sank into Parthurion's skin. He’d never been healed by magic before, and it was a strange sensation. The magic flowed down his arm and sank into his injured arm, gentle and warm. It seemed to discover his cracked rib too, it traveled down his chest and sank into his ribs, the sharp pain faded.

Once Bolvar removed his hands, Parthurion flexed his arm experimentally, and found he could move it again without pain, and found the same when he tried to stretch and found his rib was healed. His body had been healed, but the healing magic left behind an odd feeling in his mind, something couldn’t name and had never felt before, a glow, thought not of light. It was so strange, but not unpleasant. What could it be? 

“That was, the Light, wasn’t it?” Parthurion asked, and immediately felt stupid. The Light was of great cultural importance to humans, there was no reason for him to ask Bolvar such an obvious question.

Bolvar didn’t seem to mind. “It was,” he said.

“How does it work, exactly?” Parthurion asked.

Bolvar's spirits lifted, he seemed happy to talk to 'Anduin'. “The Light exists everywhere, all around us, and some of us are gifted with the ability to feel its presence directly. It takes years of practice to learn how to harness it, but I think if you're interested,” Bolvar seems to strike on a new idea, “I could show you how to meditate. It's one way we use to reach the Light, especially for new recruits. It helps, but you don’t need the Light to meditate, it's a calming exercise, you might like it.”

Curiosity won out over caution. As far as he knew the Light was solely a mortal magic, he didn’t know of any dragon who could use it even in mortal form. Which was odd, because he couldn’t think of anything type of magic dragons didn’t have some form of control over: arcane, the elements, the Emerald Dream, and so on. How odd. Maybe he could _unnecessary there is no purpose to this._

Parthurion frowned, what an odd thought. He had always been curious about the ways of mortals, understanding their magic would go a long way to _weak and thin, their magic is not good enough for the likes of you._ That was never the point though, he was just wanted to know more about mortals _are worthless creatures_ why did he feel confused and distracted suddenly? Bolvar had even said this was just a calming exercise, he probably won't even feel the Light, what was there to fuss about?

“Anduin?” Bolvar said, a small worried frown on his lips. “Are you okay? Are you still hurt?”

He didn’t know how he felt about the Light, but he should have a better understanding of something that was so important to human culture . A small demonstration wouldn’t hurt.

“I’m fine,” he said, “Show me the Light.”

Bolvar smiled. “First you need to get comfortable, distance yourself from any outside distractions. The forest isn’t a bad place to try.” Bolvar closed his eyes, and his body relaxed, shoulders down, the picture of serenity. “Then, look inward, and try to empty your mind, focus on your breathing. The Light may come to you if you’re focused like this, and if you don’t that’s okay. The Light is always with us even if you can’t feel it.”

Parthurion shifted to a more comfortable pose. He sat up, put his hands in his lap, copying Bolvar, and let his arms and spine relax _a stupid idea leave this alone._ He took a deep breath to steady himself and closed his eyes.

He focused on his breathing, a slow count in, a slow count out.

In... _leave this alone._

Out... _abandon this effort._

He faltered, struggling to keep his racing thoughts from wandering off. He didn’t usually have this much difficulty concentrating on something, why was his mind so cloudy now? 

“Here,” Bolvar said, and held out a hand, noticing Parthurion’s distress, “It’s not usual to have trouble concentrating when you’re starting out. Here,” he shifted so he was facing Parthurion, and held out his hands. “The Light can be calming itself, put your hands in mind and I’ll channel a little magic until you’re able to concentrate. How does that sound?”

Since his own concentration seemed to be gone that sounded fine. Bolvar held out his hands and _turn back_ after a hesitation put his hands in Bolvar's. The paladin began to channel a formless magic and he felt it in his hands, not healing but just existing, a warm glow in his body, and which somehow reached his mind. If he closed his eyes and focused on the Light's glow, the noise in his head seemed to fade. He started to breathe in and out, slowly. Bolvar removed his hands and the magic, but Parthurion's head stayed clear. He concentrated and tired to turn his focus on only his breathing.

 In...

Out...

In...

Out...

There.

He felt something.

It was little more than a mote, dim as a distant star but he felt something. A bright little light, somewhere in his mind. In his mind’s eye he could look up and see it above him, just out of reach. How strange, it was like hearing an echo, perceiving the faintest trace of something. All he had to do was reach out, stretch a little further.

Parthurion gasped as he felt the magic bloom in his chest. It was bright and warm, just as the magic had been when Bolvar had healed him but that had been a pale shadow compared to what he felt now. It was a wellspring, a powerful source and it washed over him, though he felt unafraid in the face of it. He was overcome with a feeling he couldn’t name. His eyes snapped open, this was nothing like he had been expecting from this exercise. His concentration was broken but he could still feel the glow of the Light, soft and gentle. Though it was starting to fade now that he'd interrupted his connection, it was still there in his mind and blood. 

“I felt something!” he turned to Bolvar, “I think it was the Light!”

“What did you feel?” Bolvar asked, excitement written on his face.

“It was like...” Parthurion waved his hands as he struggled, “I don’t know, I’d never felt anything like it! But I know it was magic, I could only just get to it, but when I did it was...” he trailed off again, and made a frustrated noise, “It was a light but it was more then that?”

Bolvar’s face lit up with joy, “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

 Parthurion smiled, giddy at this new discovery. He thought...

He thought...

Parthurion’s enthusiasm faded, and he frowned. He didn’t know what to think. He felt suddenly empty, lost, but not in the way he had felt fleeing the sight of Onyxia’s head. The memory stung, a harsh reminder why he was in the middle of the forest in the first place, and what he needed to return to. His emotions and thoughts a confusing swirl, unsure what to think and couldn’t name what he felt. He didn’t even know what to say to Bolvar.

“Um,” he began, trying to remember at least what curtesy dictates, “Thank you?”

It came out more a question then a statement of gratitude, but Bolvar seemed to accept it all the same. The paladin nodded, and reached out a hand, “Ready to go home?”

Parthurion felt strangely dazed, and accepted Bolvar’s hand and stood up. Bolvar kept talking but Parthurion didn’t listen. What a strange experience that had been, like nothing he’d done or felt before, why was that?

He hardly payed attention when Bolvar helped him up onto his horse and they rode off. Dragons were inherently magical beings, it wasn’t as if magic was an alien thing to him, so why should this magic feel so different? Why was the forest so quielty suddenly? Or was he imaging it? Bolvar called out, the other soldiers arriving quickly. Parthurion heard them speak, but did not listen.

Parthurion stared down at his hands. His thoughts on that bright little star, and the strange emptiness that followed.


	3. Illuminate

 

“It’s okay, see? Onyxia is dead.”

Varian watched Anduin’s face closely, his confidence draining. The boy’s face had gone white, and there was the shine of tears in his eyes. Varian had been so sure that proving to Anduin that the creature that hurt him was gone would comfort him. It certainly brought Varian a sense of safety, that the creature which had brought him and his family such misery was dead. She’d taken Tiffin and tried to take Anduin and tore Varian apart and would have seen his people and kingdom in ruins and now she was dead and all the world could see.

 It took him a moment to realize he was now staring at thin air. He sat up straight in his saddle and looked around, and saw the blur of Anduin and his horse bolting for the city gates.

 “Follow him!” Varian shouted, and his soldiers, most of whom were on foot. The only one also on horseback was Bolvar, who’d stayed silent the entire trip. The paladin dashed in front of the other guards towards the forest, Varian close behind. By the time they reached the city gates Anduin had disappeared, he could’ve gone any direction into the forest.

 “Find him!” Varian shouted, and the soldiers fanned out in all directions, shouting into the trees.

Varian joined his soldiers, rushing down the road on his horse, searching for anyone who might have seen his son ride past. What had gotten into that boy’s head? He’d been perfectly safe didn’t he understand that?

Varian lost track of how long he and his soldiers been searching the forest, he could hear the distant sounds of his soldiers still calling Anduin’s name. How long could they stay out here? What if night fell and they still didn’t find his son? 

His fears were not realized. He heard the sound of Bolvar’s voice cutting over the other sounds of the forest, and it took Varian a moment to understand what he was saying. Whn he did underestand, he kicked his horse and ran to Bolvar.

“Anduin!” Varian cried, as he saw Bolvar riding into view, Anduin sitting on the saddle with him.  “Thank the Light! Anduin, are you okay?”

The prince flinched at Varian’s words, his eyes stayed on the horse’s mane. “Only some scrapes, your Majesty,” said Bolvar, who took one hand from the reins and put it on Anduin’s arm, “He’s been healed, nothing to fear.”

Varian didn’t understand, he was just trying to prove to this son that he was safe, that his father would protect him. Why was Anduin afraid to even look at him?

“We’re heading back to the keep,” Varian said, then he shouted for his soldiers to regroup and when they were all accounted for, they rode back towards the city.

As they returned Varian glared at the crowds that had formed around the gates. They fell silent as the party approached, no doubt speculating about the prince’s flight. Varian felt his rage bubble up, Anduin’s public breakdown was not a fun faire for people to gawk at! The king’s angry stare was enough to turn eyes away, nearly growling at the people as they bowed their heads and moved to leave room for the party to pass.

The rest of the ride back to the keep was uneventful and made in complete silence. Anduin stayed with Bolvar, who rode close to Varian’s right. Varian kept glancing over at Anduin who mostly kept his head down but would look up and around occasionally. He seemed thoughtful now, rather then scared. Maybe this was a good sign and this whole mess wasn’t a complete waste after all. 

The horses were returned to the stable, the soldiers dispersing back to their posts, some escorting Varian, Anduin, and Bolvar back into the keep. Bolvar should have left also, but instead followed close behind the king and prince. Varian suspected the paladin wanted to talk to him about Anduin. 

Varian didn’t relax even after they were back within the safety of the keep’s walls. Part of him still couldn’t believe what Anduin had done, and now it was time to ask the question that had been troubling Varian all afternoon.

“Anduin what were you thinking?” Varian said, failing to control his temper in front of his young son and rounding on the boy, “Don’t run off like that, anything could’ve happened to you out there!”

Anduin did not look up, did not speak.

 “Anduin...” Varian said, equal parts frustrated and disappointed.

“Can I go back to my room?” Anduin asked, voice neutral.

 Varian sighed, this wasn’t going anywhere, he would have to speak to his son later. “All right, yes you can go.”

Anduin walked away, his current calm a strange contrast to his previous fear. Varian had no idea what was going on in his head.

“Varian we need to talk,” Bolvar said, once Anduin was out of earshot. 

Varian growled, he knew this would be an unpleasant conversation. “My quarters,” he rumbled, and led Bolvar to the privacy of his own study, out of sight from even his guards.

 Bolvar turned to Varian once the door to Varian’s rooms was closed. “You shouldn’t have taken him to see the head,” Bolvar said, not concealing his disapproval, “He just had to relive his trauma, what were you thinking?”

 Very few would ever dare talk back to their king, Varian’s temper had been infamous, even before Lo’gosh. However Varian considered Bolvar an old friend, and this was the only reason he didn’t punish the paladin for his disrespect, but this did not lessen his anger. “What else am I supposed to do?” he shouted, “I’m trying to make him face his fear! He can’t afford to be afraid all the time!”

“That’s not how you treat something like this,” Bolvar argued, “A shock like that only makes it worse!”  

“What would you do then?” Varian snapped.

Instead of a retort Bolvar became thoughtful. “Anduin took an interest in the Light,” Bolvar said, “He asked about it after I healed him. I tried to teach him how to meditate, he could even sense the Light on his first try, and he was much calmer after.” Bolvar was pleading now, “I think I can help him, Varian. Please, let me teach him about the Light.” 

Varian ran a hand through his hair, and tugged at the knots he found. He let go as soon as he realized he had done, he couldn’t let his people see how torn he truly was. 

Varian did not want his son to study the Light. He prayed to the Light as others did, though now it was more of a habit then a real prayer.  He doubted that it heard him, and he did not trust it as a direct source of power. Varian had already returned to Stormwind when Arthas betrayed his kingdom, the Light hadn’t saved them, or protected Stormwind when the orcs had sacked it. No, his son needed the certainty of steel, not some fickle magic to protect him.

“No,” Varian said, “Absolutely not.”

“Just the meditation then?” Bolvar said, persisting, “I’m serious Varian, he needs help, and I think I can be that help.” 

Varian hated to think that his son was weak, but when Anduin had run away from th corpsee of an enemy he couldn’t come to any other conclusion. He thought of how Anduin wouldn’t look at him, if the boy was afraid of his own father how could he live out in the world alone? Varian couldn’t seem to help, maybe this was the way. 

“Okay,” Varian said, the concession felt like a defeat, “Go ahead and teach him.”

 

* * *

 

 Parthurion lay the bed and stared at the ceiling. The stones above him were off-white and smooth. It was a little cold in the room. The bed underneath him was quite soft. His right knee itched. He didn’t think of anything in particular. 

There just wasn’t much going on in his head. It wasn’t that he was incapable of thought,  it was... he couldn’t quite put a finger on it yet, what exactly was different. What a strange state to be in. What exactly had the Light done to him? It had to have been the Light, even though the magic had faded from his body quickly after his lost his concentration. Did it affect dragons differently from mortals? Bolvar hadn’t seemed as placid as Parthurion felt after, maybe there was a way to counter the feeling? Maybe it would only take time to fade?

 He continued to stare at the ceiling for an uncertain amount of time, until there was a knock at his door.

“It’s Bolvar,” said the voice at the door, “May I come in?”

Oddly he didn’t feel frightened of Bolvar. Varian still made him anxious, but walking by the keep guards wasn’t as stressful as it usually was. “You can come in,” he called, sitting up in the bed.

Bolvar entered, and waved a hand at a desk chair. “May I sit down?”

Parthurion nodded. Bolvar sat down and rested his hands in his lap. 

“I spoke with your father,” Bolvar said, “And he said it’s okay if I teach you to meditate, like we did in the forest. I won’t be teaching you how to use it to cast spells, but how to use it to calm and center yourself, Is that something you’re interested in?” 

“Of course,” Parthurion said without hesitation. He wanted to try again, it had been such an unusual experience _do not..._ what? 

“I’m glad to hear,” Bolvar said, before Parthurion could follow up on that new disjointed thought. “How do you feel now?” 

Should he tell Bolvar about the strange blankness? Was he in danger of revealing his identity if he did? Or was he potentially putting his health at risk by keeping it a secret?

“I feel different,” Parthurion said, “After reaching the Light, I mean. I think it was the Light that did it? I had trouble concentrating then I felt the Light then I just...” Parthurion hummed, but failed to conjure the appropriate words to describe what he felt.

Bolvar leaned back in the chair and put his chin on his hand. “You may be particularly sensitive. That’s good news though! Don’t worry,” he added, noticing how Parthurion’s eyes had widened, “That means you don’t even have to learn to channel the Light to use it as a calming force.”

Parthurion wasn’t sure about that, but it was a suitable explanation for now at least. Bolvar didn’t seem to think there was any immediate danger, or at least that he was willing to share.

Bolvar leaned forward, a warm smile and bright eyes, “So here’s some things we can try...”

 

* * *

 

In the north, the Lich King stirred. Crates of plagued grain had appeared around Azeroth, there had even ben a direct attack on Stormwind by Scourge forces. Parthurion had been sequestered in the keep while Varian led the counterattack, and once the dust settled the king declared he would send forces north to fight the Lich King.

Varian had come to watch the soldiers board the first ships for the Northrend Expedition. He gave a speech to all assembled, about their courage in the face of death itself. Parthurion stayed quiet at the king’s side, surveying the troops before him.

Bolvar took the prince quietly to the side during the speech. “Promise you’ll keep doing your exercises while I’m gone?” Bolvar whispered, as to not disturb the proceedings.

Parthurion nodded, “Of course I will.”

Bolvar smiled, “I’m proud of you, Anduin.”

 Bolvar returned to stand with the other soldiers, his soldiers. When Varian finished his speech the assembled boarded their ships and set their course for the frozen north. Varian and Parthurion did not leave the docks until the last ship sank below the horizon.

 

* * *

 

Parthurion continued his meditation sessions. Every time it became a little easier for Parthurion to reach the Light. Still not well enough to channel it into a spell, but enough to sense its presence, for it to calm him. 

He still struggled with his concentration, his thoughts still became oddly muddy when he started to try again, though that confusion faded the more often he meditated. But it did not leave, over time his certainty about this endeavor faltered. Doubt wriggled in his mind _this is not the way_ and he couldn’t combat them.

Maybe the Light wasn’t for him after all.

 

* * *

 

Parthurion was with Varian when they received news of the disaster at the Wrathgate. 

Varian had begun to take Parthurion with him, to stand at the king’s side while Varian held court. He wanted the prince to observe the duties and daily routine of a king. He would hear cases from his people, and deliver to them judgment or aid or resources.Sometimes heroes of the Alliance would come to him seeking to serve the kingdom. Sometimes they were there to deliver news.

One day a champion returned from Northrend, a dwarf paladin, carrying a shield with Stormwind’s colors and emblem. Her face was like stone, her eyes distant, as she described the disaster. The Lich King’s march onto the battlefield, the Forsaken’s plague caustic enough to melt living flesh, the red dragon’s fire cleansing the sickness from the land. No one on that battlefield survived, including Bolvar Fordragon. The champion held out the shield, no need say more.

When the champion said the Forsaken plotters had seized Undercity from Sylvanas, Varian had left with a regiment of soldiers to lay siege to Undercity, leaving Parthurion alone. He immediately retreated to his own room, and all he could manage was to lay on the bed and curl up, and try not to shatter.

Bolvar’s loss was like a wound in his heart, red, raw, and bleeding, the pain so like the loss of his Mother and siblings. Not as severe, nowhere near, but he was grieving for the loss of a mortal life, which he’d never done before, which only seemed to compound his mourning. Bolvar had been so kind, so patient with him, seemed genuinely interested in what he thought and felt. He hadn’t even known that man for that long _foolish to mourn a mortal_.

That...

 That hadn’t been his own thought.

_You have nothing to fear, not from us._

Parthurion felt as if he had turned to ice. The voice, and it was a voice, different from his own thoughts he now realized _we love you and we will protect you, make you strong_ was familiar, almost reassuring. Why was he worried again? _We’ve always been here for you._ Wait, is thoughts weren’t all his own? What was going on? Where had this voice come from?

He remembered something his older siblings had taught him. He knew the Old Gods gave Deathwing and his children their power, that they whispered to him. Did they then whisper to his children and grandchildren too? He had never thought they might guide his actions so _here to help here to save you,_ they didn’t seem so bad, maybe this was how it was supposed to be? But why did they feel separate from himself suddenly if they’d been here all along? 

The Light! It had to have been the Light! He didn’t hear their voices when he focused on that power _the Light blinds you_ that’s why everything seemed to go quiet when he channeled the Light! He didn’t know what else to do he thought he was himself and whole he had never realized there was something else in his head _as it should be_. 

He clutched his head, squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to steady his breathing. _How dare you turn away from us_ he tried to remember what the Light had felt like. _Traitorous whelp!_ He relaxed, or tried to, but the voices began to scream _nothing will save you from us!_

He felt the magic bloom in his chest and buried himself in it, tried to fling himself into it as if casting himself into a bonfire. He clung to the Light afraid it would burn and blind, but too afraid to let go it seemed to sense its fear and he didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks but it almost felt as if it embraced him, to reassure.

 Parthurion shuddered, breathing ragged as if he had just run miles. His hands shook, alone in the too-quiet room with his now empty, hollow head. He could still feel the Light’s glow in his body, his mind, a soft presence, and in a place with too little sound.

 Fear began to take up that space, how much of his thoughts had ever been his own? If the Light could banish them from his mind, even temporarily, what did that mean for him? The rest of his flight? Where had his own personality ended and the Old Gods begin? Could he trust his own thoughts and feelings when he didn’t know if they were his own at all? How much had they warped his perceptions? His memories?

He felt sick, his breathing was fast and shallow and his heart thudded in his ears. Was it even good to banish them at all? Was this a mistake? Trying to banish them had been his first instinct, to reach out for the Light he had only just learned of when the voices must have been with him all his life. What if he was just an empty shell without them, without their voices to guide him? Maybe it they were right an he was wrong to turn to the Light so readily.

He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t live like this. He was among people who would slay him if they knew the truth and now his own thoughts had turned against him. He couldn’t stay not in this life not in this place. He might not fully understand what the Light did to him or what it means, but there was one thing still clear in his mind, that felt true to him.

Mother’s knife was hidden in the mattress, he took dagger and sheath and placed it in his boot. 

 He would finish what his Mother had started, he would avenge his family.

 

* * *

 

Parthurion waited until he knew Varian had returned from Undercity. Part of him had hoped he wouldn’t return at all, it would make things easier. But some hours later, a guard knocked on his door to inform him of the king’s return. Parthurion had been pacing the room with restless energy, and as soon as he had the news he ran right for Varian’s chambers.

The guards didn’t so much as glance at him when he knocked on the door to the king’s rooms. It wasn’t any of their business what the prince wanted with his father, and Parthurion was grateful for their lack of curiosity.

After a lengthy silence, Parthurion knocked on the door again. “Father?” he called, and was met with silence. He glanced up at the guards, but they made no move to shoo him away. He took the handle and opened the door.

Varian, still wearing most of his armor, was sitting in a chair by a writing desk, a half empty bottle in hand. His eyes were bloodshot and vacant, he slumped in his seat, apparently unaware of anything around him. Good, he would be much easier to deal with drunk. Parthurion closed the door behind him, and started to walk towards Varian.

“Father,” Parthurion said, experimentally. 

The king started and stared, so not paying much attention to his surroundings. “Anduin,” Varian began, then stopped, words failing. Instead of speaking he slumped down further into his chair, eyes falling to the floor. 

“Bolvar didn’t deserve that,” Varian murmured, apparently forgetting about Parthurion, “None of them, did all those soldiers. And what the Forsaken did to Lordaeron... I hadn’t been back to Lordaeron since before the plague, it was my home! And what the Forsaken did to it, to all those people...” Varian hitched, keening sound, not a word but unformed pain, and Parthurion tried not to think of how it reminded him of how dragons cry. Varian seemed only half aware he had ben speaking at all, oblivious to Parthurion and his inner struggle. Varian took another long drink, as if he would find peace at the bottom.

Parthurion had never, in all his time in the castle, seen Varian with his defenses down like this. What happened to him? Parthurion had not heard what had happened exactly at Undercity, and for a moment his caution wrestled with his curiosity. Curiosity won, maybe a distraction would displace his doubts, “What happened?” 

Varian shook his head, “No, no you shouldn’t hear about such things.” Varian turned back to look at Parthurion, swaying slightly. “I hope you never... You never have to lose everything like that.” He slid out of the chair, clumsy and awkward, so he was eye level with Parthurion. His pain was written clear on his face, and for the first time Parthurion realized he felt an echo of that pain, understood it.

Varian wrapped his arms around Parthurion’s shoulders in a tight hug, and this time Parthurion did not cry out, did not pull away. “I’m sorry,” Varian murmured into Parthurion’s hair, “Whatever it was I did wrong, I’m so sorry, please don’t be scared of me.”

Parthurion felt his heart ache at Varian’s pain. It felt not unlike the loss of his family, the loss of Bolvar. Varian had lost his home, his family too, twice over. He’d always thought mortals to be shallow creatures, incapable of the same intellectual and emotional complexity as dragons. Interesting certainly, but little more then animals. Could that have been the voices instead? Could he trust any of his previous beliefs about mortals?  Was this the Light’s work? Did it really change him so much?

“You...” Parthurion’s breath caught in his throat, as if about to choke on his words.  “You’ve been drinking. You should go to sleep.”

Varian rumbled, an incoherent noise Parthurion ignored. He reached out and wrapped his arms under Varian’s. The king offered no resistance except a discontent grunt. Parthurion’s mortal form was small, too small to really carry Varian to his bed, instead he half dragged the man across the room. With some difficulty he hoisted Varian onto the bed and laid him on his side, just to be safe. 

“I’m going to ask the guards to check on you in an hour,” Parthurion said, “Let them know if you need anything.”

Varian said nothing, but his breathing was steady and that was enough for now.

 Parthurion closed the door to the Varian’s rooms, slowly to make as little noise as possible, and asked the guards to check on the king’s state later. Then he returned to his own room.

The hidden knife went unused.

 

* * *

 

Varian did not seem to remember his drunk ramblings to Parthurion, which was for the best. He made no mention of their conversation the next day, or the day after that. Parthurion decided it was for the best.

Later, Varian brought him down to the docks with him to inspect some new ships destined for Northrend. This would be a good demonstration in military, the king explained, Stormwind’s greatest strength was its navy. As Varian spoke with his admirals, Parthurion quietly walked to the water’s edge, and let his mother’s knife slip from his hands into the water. 

He watched the dark blade sink beneath the waves and sink out of sight. He looked up, out at the lighthouse, the water, the distant horizon. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the docks, of the mortals around him and their lives. The silence in his own head.

Discarding the knife was only a symbolic gesture, really. It would be easy enough to get another one, he was sure the Stormwind armory would not deny him if he asked for a weapon. All the same he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, of letting go of something that had been quietly crushing him. He still didn’t know if this was the right path, if he was making a mistake not killing Varian. Nothing he thought or felt would change the fact that his family was dead by the king’s hands, but hadn’t Parthurion done the same to him, stolen his only family away?

He needed to explore this new path, understand what happened to him, to see what the Light revealed.


	4. Home

Parthurion was largely confined to the keep. Varian forbade him to leave unless he and a troop of armed guards went with him. Parthurion did not object, there was already so much to take in just within the keep walls.

He spent most days either at Varian’s side in court, or in various lessons, tutors imparting knowledge deemed important for a future king: politics, military tactics, negotiation and diplomacy, history, law, etiquette, penmanship, and enough other subjects that Parthurion could barely grapple with them all. Parthurion had to learn quickly, there was already so much he was expected to know, and he was afraid to ask questions or for more help, as he still had to pretend he knew what he was doing. Much of his time outside of lessons were spent in the keep library, desperate to catch up with all the information Anduin would have known.

What was much more interesting, and what he did when he had any free time at all, was his old hobby of watching mortals, this time with fresh, unclouded eyes. Attempting to understand how they felt and why, not just what they did. He hadn’t considered mortals possessing the same complexity and depth as dragons did. 

He tried to observe different groups of people in the keep. Once he watched some older students attend a lecture in the library. Another day he sat in the corner of the barracks, watching soldiers perform exercises. He sat in the kitchens once, watching the servants work, a machinery he so rarely saw elsewhere. A young maid handed him a sweet pastry, a small smile and Parthurion pleased but confused. 

Parthurion still felt lost. He didn’t know what he should be doing, working towards. That seemed to be the biggest and most immediate drawback to banishing the voices, he didn’t know what to do with himself. The voices gave him purpose, and without them he was adrift. Parthurion didn’t know what would happen if he let them in again, if they would still be angry, if they would find a way to punish him. He’d spent a couple hundred years with the voices in his head, he could be patient with himself learning to be without them. Patience would keep him alive after all. 

When the time came Parthusion was glad to finally the news that the Lich King had finally fallen. The campaign in Northrend had become little more then white noise to Parthurion after Bolvar’s death, he’d thrown himself at his studies after choosing to follow the Light. He was glad to hear of the victory, it had taken a heavy toll on Stormwind and the Alliance, and now it was behind them.

The king had arranged a ball at the keep later that month in celebration. Parthurion’s regular lessons now included ballroom dancing, amazed that there was more his tutors could find to stuff into his studies. 

 

* * *

 

There was much Varian still had left to plan, and somehow planning a ball within the walls of his own keep stressed him out as much as planning a foreign campaign.

There would be a service at the cathedral to honor the dead, this was for the living to take a breath, and enjoy a moment of peace. Varian had mixed feelings about royal balls in general, but this time, after so long and tragic a campaign, even he felt a party might lift his people’s spirits, and maybe his own.

However sitting around too long, even when he was productive, made him antsy, he never was one for sitting around, even important sitting around. He figured now was a good time to check the progress in the ballroom, they should be putting up decorations.

To his surprise, Anduin was already in the ballroom, sitting near emptied crates. He hadn’t expected to find his son here, and quickly decided now was a good time to check in on the boy. 

“What are you doing?” Varian asked, hoping his tone wasn’t accusatory.

“Just watching,” Anduin said with a shrug, he didn’t look at Varian as he spoke, “Took the servants a while to find a ladder of the right height, so they’ve just started with the banners.”

Varian tried to think of something, anything, to talk about. The only conversations he’d had with Anduin lately were either about his studies or his observations at court. Those were meant to be instructional, a teacher to a student and not a parent to a child. Anduin offered nothing else to talk about, and Varian didn’t know how to start.

‘Please talk to me, I don’t like how you’ve shut me out’ Varian wanted to say, but the words were locked inside him, unable to turn thought into breath. Why had Bolvar been able to talk so easily to Anduin but Varian, the boy’s father, couldn’t manage it? 

“Is something wrong?”

Varian looked down to see Anduin staring back up at him. So his thoughts must’ve been clear on his face. Varian hated to think his son could read him so clearly, which he had no idea what Anduin was thinking.

Varian huffed in frustration, and left the ballroom without another word.

 

* * *

 

The day of the party arrived.

Both Parthurion and Varian were dressed to the nines in blue and gold and in full royal regalia. He’d watched the assembly of the ball’s trappings, it was something else entirely to see it now. It was full of life and light and people all around dancing and talking. Parthurion was, as always, content to stand and watch, he had no specific obligations at this event.

“And how are you, Prince Anduin?”

Parthurion blinked up at the noble who has spoken to him. He’d been standing off to one side, avoiding the crowds, and he hadn’t expected anyone to approach him.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Parthurion said. Was this person’s interest genuine or merely polite? He couldn’t tell.

“That’s so good to hear,” the noble said with a smile, whose name Parthurion couldn’t quite remember, there were so many, “I just wanted to say it’s good to see you’re doing better. Light be with you, your Highness.”

The noble bowed to him and left him alone again to return to the crowd. Parthurion looked back at the party. Varian had apparently found the drinks and was talking with a druid he recognized as one of his old gladiator companions. The noble who’d spoke to him had chosen a partner and were now dancing in the middle of the room, the musicians’ joyful music filling the hall, their hearts.

Parthurion found he quite liked mortals. How different they were from dragons, but not in as many way as he’d thought. It didn’t matter to any of them that they would all die one day, it didn’t seem to bother them as much as Parthurion would’ve expected. 

He’d chosen right after all.

 

* * *

 

Jaina used to love parties like this.

Here everyone could be happy and full of light and laughter because to them the world was saved and all she could manage was to feel cold, as if she were still in Northrend. One of the very champions that had killed the Lich King had visited her, carrying a locket with her picture inside. She didn’t even need their explanation, she recognized the little necklace, remembered when it had been commissioned.

She had been so sure Arthas was gone, consumed by Frostmourne and transformed wholly into the Lich King, but now there was this and all the doubts she’d ever had since the culling came crashing back about to drown and crush her. Jaina had hoped the levity of a party surrounded by friends, colleagues, and allies would lift her spirits, they hadn’t yet. It wasn’t fair.

Jaina looked around the ballroom, feeling detached. People she knew and some she didn’t flitted around making small talk, dancing, or helping themselves to food or drink. She noted Varian already had a drink in his hand, and was speaking to one of his admirals. She soon after spotted Anduin, who she noted was in unusually high spirits, maybe finally beginning to recover. She hadn’t seen much of him for a very long time, years maybe, and recently only knew of him as an unusually shy, anxious child. It was time to amend that. Also, maybe giving him her present would help cheer her up.

She walked over to him and tapped him gently on the shoulder. He started, but calmed down when he saw it was only Jaina. Another improvement, he was less skittish now. Jaina tried to smile, knowing that it wouldn’t quite be sincere, “Hi Anduin, how are you liking the ball?”

Anduin smiled, small but honest, “It’s nice,” he said.

She hadn’t seen him smile in so long, Jaina felt her own spirits lift just a little. “I have something for you,” Jaina said, and with a brief wave of a hand and purple arcane sparks, she summoned her gift, and placed it in his hands.

Anduin blinked, confused by the gift, “What is it?”

“It’s a hearthstone,” Jaina said, “It’ll let you teleport back to a specific place whenever you need to. This one,” she tapped the stone, “Is connected to my study in Theramore.  know things have been hard for you, and I want to be there if you need me.”

Anduin turned the stone over in his hands, examining the symbol and stonework, “Thank you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina laughed, “So formal!” she teased, “Auntie Jaina is still fine.”

Anduin seemed puzzled, “Why would I call you that?”

Jaina frowned, now also confused, “You always used to...”

Anduin’s posture changed immediately, something about it gave Jaina the impression of frightened prey. “Oh, wait, I didn’t...” he trailed off and clutched the hearthstone tight to his chest, then fumbled with it as if it burned him, and settled on letting his arms fall to his sides, “I need to go, sorry, thank you for the gift.”

He bowed to her slightly, seemed to regret the motion halfway through, then scurried off like a thief caught in the act.

That was strange, and unlike him. Anduin hadn’t been himself for a while now, Jaina realized. He had been through so much trauma, but to forget her? She hadn’t been around too much, but Anduin had always seemed happy to see her before. She’d been like an adoptive aunt since he’d been small, what changed? She decided that she needed to keep a closer eye on Anduin.


End file.
